Proof it is My Universe

As I have posted before, my job is - um - challenging. On many levels. Let's start with the fact simply having a job with somewhat regular hours - or at least hours that I have to set and keep is a bit of a new thing for me. What? You mean I have to be somewhere at a certain time more days than not? Well that is just insane, I haven't done that for more than 2-3 weeks at a time for years now. Literally.

Then there is working with a client riddled with a double whammy of resistance. She's an adolescent - the picture of such creatures are in the dictionary under words like obstinate, monosyllabic, and noncommittal. Add to the pot that she doesn't want treatment (most of the time), and you have hella fun.

Progress notes are to be in a format mandated by the county, quantitative, third person voice and other forms of hell for this daughter of a poet. I have had to edit EVERY note I have written. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. At least once. AT. LEAST. While we talk about psychosocial education in supervision, I cannot mention that term in my notes. Schizophrenic? Ya think? I cannot begin to tell you how tired I am of using words like: facilitate(d), collaborate(d), role play(ed), model(ed).

Supervision has been such an entirely mixed bag. On one hand I do appreciate much of what J brings to the table. On the other, she is disorganized, strikes me as wishy washy (A quality I have absolutely miniscule patience for in children, so you can imagine how much I loathe it in a supervisory position). Add to the mix that she is the one constantly telling me I almost have it in terms of the notes one moment and the next telling me that same damn section needs work. EVERY. TIME.

The other day, I think, okay I'm getting a handle on this behavioral section (my intervention and response sections never need much - in fact she regularly writes how creative my interventions are - one of the things that keeps me working hard). I'm editing like mad notes from April. (Yes, April. Did I mention J runs a bit behind schedule sometimes?) Tuesday night I come home to an email from J, saying that I'm just not getting it, asking to do a two hour note writing meeting, etc. My response: FURIOUS. I am so frustrated. Why? Glad you asked.

1. Dammit I am trying so freaking hard
2. It seems that she keeps adding things for me to incorporate, of course my notes suck.
3. I really wish she had been paying more attention in the very beginning, say March! so that more of this would be second nature.
4. I am hitting my own resistance. I really don't like the format of the notes, I feel like I am making numbers up, because, well I am.
5. Mad at myself for not assimilating the material better.
6. I am totally unaccustomed to not mastering something really damn quick.

However, being the consummate professional, I return in a very short while to working on my notes (in part because I was informed that day that all of last week's were due the next day - did I mention this organization isn't the best organized?). While I stew I work until about 1:30am with still another new note to churn out before my supervision at 11am.

In the morning, after what masqueraded as sleep, I am still in an absolutely foul mood. Very upset with myself. The Girl Friend mistakenly thinks I'm mad at her. I don't know why, just because I have barely talked to her since getting that email, am walking around with an aura that broadcasts "Don't even think about speaking to me about anything because I will bite your head off for breathing hard." The good part of this is that I break down. Well, good is a relative term. I hate admitting that I am having a hard time, that my anxiety in general has been all consuming and a bit crippling but I guess it had to be said. And said it was, I assure you dear readers.

I'm sure at this point you are wondering how any of this points to the world being my Universe. Read on.

In my rant about how maybe I made a terrible decision going graduate school (and therefore accruing debt second only to the mortgage I once held), that maybe this isn't the career for me, that maybe I need to quit this job which is also doubling as (in theory only at this point) my practicum which is necessary to graduate anytime this decade, etc, etc. Believe me, I went on ad nauseum about what a f*ck up I am. Well in the middle of this self flagellation (which is nowhere are much fun as flagellating someone else who is tied to the doorway before you really have your way with them) I said, "I just wish R. would supervise me instead."

With a sniffle and stiffening of the upper lip and all that, I got myself together and went to supervision with J. Of course this actually went well. Afterwards, I called TGF leaving her a message that said, "It really went well. I feel much better. This growth stuff is such a bitch."

My day continued uneventfully until that evening. My phone rang at 8 something that night and I saw it was J. I thought perhaps she needs to reschedule our note writing marathon. No. She says, "I have good news and I have bad news." Truthfully my brain scrambled into overdrive thinking I had really messed up. "I've been fired", she says. Shock. Absolute shock. I make all the right comments, truly wondering aloud with her about the management style of the agency. "So you will be supervised by R. from now on." Oh. My. God. Didn't I just ask the Universe for that a few mere hours ago? Damn my powers are scary sometimes.

Yesterday, Thursday, is Group Supervision. I don't know who knows what has happened with J except a few people. There are several new hires. One of them, a young woman who taken a liking to but don't know at all, D. looks at me and says, "Don't we have to wait for J." I reply as blandly and unemotionally as possible, "No." D. gives me this look with a big grin and says, "What did you do to her". I try to laugh this off and say, "How'd you know?". But jeez, how did she know?

TGF has asked that I not say anything like I wish her gone. She's scared.

Just the way I like 'em.